Reflections

Before arriving to the US, I wanted to make some final reflections: dislikes/likes, funny random Spanish customs, etc. My program directors have advised us that we have changed since our 5 months in Spain, and I am curious to hear what my parents and friends have to say about that. Anyways, I will be writing this entry in bullet points for the sake of efficiency and also so that you are able to pick and choose what you would prefer to read.

10 Things (not people) I will Miss about Spain:

1.      Café con leche

2.      Tapas

3.      Barrio Latino (place where I would go salsa & bachata every Thursday night)

4.      Being called “guapa” (“gorgeous”) from sincere people, not just a catcall

5.      Walking everywhere instead of driving

6.      Architecture

7.      Seeing history in every direction

8.      Morning runs to the Alhambra

9.      Festivals that include the entire community

10.   Churros y chocolate

10 Things (not people) I Look Froward to in the USA

1.      My dog

2.      BBQ

3.      TV not dubbed (I am sorry, but Spanish dubbed Morgan Freeman is not the same)

4.      Ability to wear athletic clothes without receiving odd looks (dressing up is simply expected)

5.      Going barefoot in the house (socks ok, slipper preferred, barefoot: abomination)

6.      Lots of salads without onions

7.      Hanging out with friends in a house (entertainment is always done outside of the home)

8.      Cooking

9.      Having stairs in my home

10.   Always knowing that there will be either soap or toilet paper in a public bathroom

Spanish Culture from an American Viewpoint

·        There exists more of a priority for people rather than technology

·        A grand majority of the population is named María, José, Antonio or Carlos

o   I met a family that says it all: kids were named Antonio, José and María

·        Sidewalks are for paseando (relaxed afternoon walk with friends), not actually getting where you need to go

o   Heads up for elderly women with linked arms blocking the entire sidewalk at a snail’s pace, they will NOT move for you

·        Nightlife on the weekends does not begin until 2 am

·        Lunch is between 1:30 and 3: 30, dinner is between 8:45 and 10:30

·        Bars are generally for socialization, not debauchery

·        For women, the men are much more forward and direct—tell them off, they need it sometimes (and there are very kind gentlemen as well)

·        Public transportation is the way to go, it is clean and more economical

·        ALL stores close between 2 and 5 pm for the siesta

·        ALL banks are only open between 8:30 and 2 pm, Monday through Friday

·        Always pay in cash, credit cards are reserved for large purchases

·        Tips are not “accepted,” only tip when the person does not like their job

·        Airports do not post the gate until 20-30 minutes before the flight boards

·        When asking for a drinking fountain, it either does not exist or you will be directed to an ACTUAL fountain (look for “agua potable”=drinkable water)

·        ALWAYS carry a packet of tissues and hand sanitizer, more than likely the public bathrooms lack either toilet paper or soap

·        90% of Spanish people are friendly and would love to help you, probably will even invite you to dine with them if you make a good enough impression

·        Personal space does not exist, so pop your bubble before entering the country

·        A handshake is a “cold” greeting, instead, lightly hold the person’s left arm with your right hand and touch cheeks while making a quiet “kiss sound” (both cheeks)

·        Eye contact on the streets is not usual, this goes for polite smiles as well (unless you want to seriously flirt)

·        You will hear a sort of “lisp” in their speech, done most grammatically correct, it is the “th” sound for words that contain: -za, ze, zi, zo, zu, ci, ce

·        People in Andalucía “eat” their words, meaning they do not pronounce very clearly (ex: “fish”= “pescado,” but pronounced “pescao”

·        Dogs have no manners whatsoever

·        The delicious aromas from the many panaderías (bakeries) will be a grand temptation

·        Being 15 minutes late is considered within the “courtesy” waiting time

Food Reflections

·        Everything is fried in olive oil, so enjoy the less fattening version while you can

·        Tinto de verano is fabulous: tiny bit of wine with sparkling juice

·        Typically there are 3 plates to every main meal

·        You will eat your weight in carbs, weekly.

·        A typical Andalucian breakfast consists of an entire toasted baguette with olive oil and honey, with a café con leche (essentially a glass of half-espresso, half-milk)

·        Never say “no” to arroz con leche unless you are allergic to lactose

·        A “tortilla” is not corn or flour, it is an omelet-like food, often with potatoes in it

·        Spicy Spanish food does not exist, they would cry and writhe on the floor in pain after a drop of Tabasco

·        Sour cream does not exist in Spain (and peanut butter is imported, so really expensive and not widely known)

·        Chocolate and churros is a must-try; “chocolate” is like warmed-up chocolate pudding, and you dip the churros in it

·        Dr. Pepper and Root Beer are not known, instead go for the Coca-Cola or Sprite

·        “Eating-on-the-go” is not ever done, and meals last approximately an hour

·        Every plate of food served is sure to have either olive oil, tomatoes, garlic or onions (and everything is delicious, except stay away from the bacalao salado—it is fish (maybe codfish?) preserved HEAVILY in vinegar)

·        Butter is rarely used

Favorite Foods (all were delicious!)

·        Tortilla de patatas (the omelet with potatoes)

·        Arroz a la cubana: white rice served with a tomato-based sauce, grilled bananas and fried eggs

·        Merluza con salsa de pasas: fish with a raisin sauce

·        Croquetas: kind of like chicken nuggets that include almonds?

·        Elias’s hamburguesas: my host brother made THE MOST FABULOUS hamburgers

·        Fried calamari

Katherine in the Albaicin

·        Arroz con leche (a dessert similar to rice pudding)

How I Think I have Changed

               Apart from gaining more fluency in Spanish, I have begun to learn that a schedule is important, but should not be the center of my life. In a more direct and cliché manner: appreciate the small things. Being punctual, making deadlines, etc., are still important, but also I am more willing to take that moment to actually chat with the friend I see on the street rather than simply, “Hello, great to see you! Sorry, I have to go…” On a spiritual level, God showed Himself to be faithful time after time through my disaster of arriving to Spain, His provision of a church, Christian roommate and spiritual conversations.

               Thank you for following me throughout this 5 month journey! Please take the time to enjoy your family, after 5 months apart from mine and several friends having lost a family member, I cannot wait to run from the arrival gate and hug them and truly say, “I love you!” I have approximately 23 hours of traveling ahead of me before I can slip into my daisy duke’s, cowboy boots, put my gorgeous REAL dog (not some pequeñito ratón) in the back of the pickup and eat some tacos from a sketchy taco truck! Later, to be exchanged for my pearls, nude pumps and pink blazer, but everyone has their guilty pleasures. May you and yours be blessed, and ¡Feliz verano! 

Final Goodbyes

Tango Class

During 5 months, Rosa continued to mention “Las Alpujarras,” which is a series of pueblitos (villages) in the mountains where she has a house. Finally, for our last weekend before leaving, we went! We stopped for a café con leche on the way, and ate lunch in the tallest village in Spain which is famous for its jamón (ham, like prosciutto). Rosa’s house (think townhouse, pueblo style) is in a village of 80 people, no stores or cafés, and every building is white stucco—absolutely precious.

My church!

I said goodbye to our church family, my tango class, last chocolate and churros, and had to say one last goodbye to classical music concerts. It was completely perfect; Barto, our conductor friend, had his symphony play music imitating New York in “The Big Apple,” so great to listen to a piece about the US in Granada—almost as if it was saying goodbye to us.

Rosa, Lupe, Barto, Ronnie, Katherine and Antonio

The entire semester we had been promising to make an “American” dinner (if you think about it, what IS an American dinner? We have stolen everything from every other country…but, no complaints!). Ultimately, Lupe (Rosa’s 67 year dance instructor who dresses like a teenager, complete with a blonde hair scrunchy), Antonio (Rosa’s brother) and Barto and Ronnie (the conductor and his wife—such a fun couple!) came for a dinner of baked potatoes, salad and strawberry shortcake. You have to try caramelized onions on baked potatoes! The salad did not have raw onions or garlic (for once!), but rather I made a dressing of olive oil, lemon juice, the lemon peel, rosemary, oregano and basil. It was a sweet night of fun conversation, great food and dear friends.

Our final dinner with everyone in our program was held at a 4 star hotel, in a grand ballroom with a glass ceiling and fountains. After two plates of calamari, jamón and cheeses for appetizers, we realized we had not even begun the evening’s menu. Salad, a meat dish, a lemon sorbet with hierbabuena (do not remember which spice that is) for a palate cleanser and dessert of a gourmet ice cream, encrusted in almonds, with hot chocolate poured over it was accompanied by 5 glasses. White wine for the salad, red wine for the meat dish, cava for the dessert, and of course water and soda—wow! We were out until 1 am eating, trying to suppress our nerves for our official language exam the following morning.

ILACA final dinner

Katherine, my roommate had to leave immediately following the exam (tough goodbye), so Rosa and I decided to go for our last round of tapas at Los Diamentes with calamari, shrimp and bacalao (type of fish), a plate of fried eggplant (which is usually covered in a sweet molasses sauce), and ice cream at Los Italianos.

The next day was my day to say goodbye to Granada and Rosa. How many tears were shed at the bus station! I love that woman—she may love to repeat stories, be the owner of the ugliest dog known to man, interrupt study sessions with stories about her recent purchases and tell me about every friend of hers that has had plastic surgery (and its success or failure!), but she opened not only her home to me, but also her heart and family. We will always have a connection despite the 5400 miles that separate her and me; she will never stop being my “Rosa,” nor I her “niña.”

Extremadura was my next stop, to visit my precious friends, Sharon & David. To breathe in the fresh air of the countryside, work in their garden and be in the olive groves was the perfect transition between my Spanish and American life (plus, I probably ate my weight in fresh strawberries and raspberries J). Their village provided me the idyllic Spanish ending; after going with Sharon to her choir practice, a few friends stopped by to say hello to me that I had met during Semana Santa, and I also took a little walk through its cobblestone streets. While admiring its doors that are practically as old as the US, an elderly gentleman kindly stopped me, asked me if I was from the village (ok, somewhat questionable to ask a blonde with a camera if she is from the village of 2000 peopleJ), and then proceeded to show me where his home was in the case I ever needed anything, have a question answered or simply to chat.  Later, after the practice, Nanda, Josefa and María Carmen (three women I had met when I visited in 2012, also the committee of the choir), Sharon and I went to tapas. They were discussing the choir’s final celebration dinner, when they saw the owner of the local restaurant. Rather intimidating to have those 3 women order a man to the table to negotiate prices of a dinner—poor guy never stood a chance. These are the moments I will miss with all my heart.

Extremadura

Finally, I headed to Madrid to stay with a friend of David and Sharon’s the night before my flight. Such a kind couple and a precious 3 year-old son! Loved playing blocks and trains with him, just thinking of the few hours that separated me from my own 5 (soon to be 6!) nieces and nephews, and also conversing very easily with everyone in Spanish.  

Dr. Seuss has said, “Oh! The places you’ll go!” –Belgium, Norway, Spain…and the list continues. I will come back in the near future, still have not completed my two final goals of visiting Portugal and País Vasco (located in northern Spain), but nothing could ever beat being with the greatest blessing of my life: my 2 parents, 4 brothers and sisters (in-laws are not “in-laws,” they are siblings), and 5 (practically 6—just somewhat excited to see my sister’s baby bumpJ) nieces and nephews and 1 Nana, oh, and my dog and horse (practically family, and are more spoiled than I am). 

Final thought: No matter the culture, language or distance from my family, one thing remains unchanged: God continues to prove Himself in the most humorous and spontaneous ways as the only god and the definition of truth, love and justice.

“Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near”

--Hebrews 10:23-25

Taxidermy and Graduation

An ancient Jewish neighborhood or a Portland-like park have been two of my favorite routes to run up to La Alhambra. It is situated on a hill overlooking the city of Granada, and is an ancient Muslim fortress/city. Rather magical to enter into another world on my morning runs J

The two old ladies :)

Sarah, a girl from my program who spent her last semester of college in Granada instead of attending her graduation, was able to celebrate an American/Spanish ceremony. We assembled together in a park with an incredible fountain, forced her into a granny nightgown as her “gown” and a ridiculous sparkly hat as her “cap,” had a guitarist playing and even had speeches!

Ronda

For our last excursion with the program, we went to the tiny pueblos of Ronda and Grazalema. Ronda is situated on a cliff with a river running through its ravine, connected by a famous bridge that has a jail in its center (would not mind being a criminal with THAT view!). Besides having an awesome ancient mine that goes down to the crystal blue water, it is also home to the oldest Plaza de Toros in Spain. Our poor tour guide had to compete for our attention while two 65 year old women were pretending to be the bull and the bullfighter!

The following day we went to Grazalema, which is not famous for anything apart from being a precious pueblo situated in the mountains. We went on a fantastic hike, except that our tour guides proceeded to stop at EVERY plant to explain its name, but we did get to eat wild asparagus. For lunch we went to a great restaurant that had a ton of taxidermy—felt like homeJ

Dress-up & Flamenco

Día de las Cruces

Following Día de las Cruces was Día de las Madres (Mother’s Day is celebrated a week earlier). Katherine, Rosa and I went to church, being that it was a Sunday, and walk in to find every woman still in her traje de Gitano! Just like dolls, they handed us clothes, fixed our jewelry and we were transformed. How they love to document every event with at least 100 pictures (reminded me of Auntie Tracy), and then we enjoyed a delicious potluck with Mexican food too because one of the ladies, Marta, is from Mexico.

The origins of Flamenco is as mysterious as the disappearance of Amelia Earhart; it has to do with the expulsion of the Jews/Gypsies/Muslims from Andalucía back in the XXV and XXVII centuries, but somehow managed to have its debut in the XIX century…nobody really knows. To celebrate this aspect of Spanish culture, we attended the most marvelous Flamenco spectacle in the same theater we saw the epic pop/rock concert. The rhythm of the singers was mesmerizing; two men (the “cantaors” or “singers”) sat at a wooden table and almost had a conversation in song while maintaining the most unusual tapping of their knuckles on the wood. One could not even follow the hand movements of the guitarist they were so intricate, and then the bailaor “dancer” entered the stage. She had at least four dress changes, but the most impressive was a metallic, gold dress with an outrageously long train. Not only was she manipulating her train, keeping the hand movements going AND creating a rhythm with her heels, she managed to grab a shawl and dance with that—it left us all astounded and wanting to learn Flamenco just like a kid wants to become James Bond after seeing Casino Royale. 

Barcelona

Barcelona is a city in which one cannot miss visiting during a trip to Spain, it has everything: beach, art, medieval characteristics, culture, etc. I would describe it as the Spanish San Francisco. It is situated on the east coast in the Autonomous Province (“state”) of Cataluña (spelled Catalunya in the region because they have their own language alongside Spanish, called Catalán. It is trying to declare independence from Spain, in case you wanted a modern political lesson).

A friend of mine was going to accompany me, but at last minute, she was unable. I have heard that every person has to experience traveling solo, and this was my opportunity. For those of you who are not my family, I am an evangelical Christian, which will help you understand my reasons to saying what I am about to explain. Never could I have imagined the fun and random opportunities that God brought along for me during this trip—occurrences that could not have happened had I had a fellow traveler.

I stayed in a precious hostel, themed after a tailor’s shop, where I made good friends with the receptionist. Being that I was alone, and being blonde certainly does not help, I received a ton of “piropos” (“catcalls” that usually are fairly innocent, but can be excessive—I will comment on those in another post), but one that made me laugh was a high school kid who stopped me on the street. He was very kind, obviously flirtatious, and told me that I looked gorgeous that day and he had to stop to tell me—poor kid, I kind of brushed him off because I had more important things to do, such as see La Sagrada Familia!

Fachada de la Pasión, La Sagrada Familia

It is a structure unlike anything I have ever seen in Europe or the States; Gaudí, the architect, used lots of organic-like designs and unusual forms to plan the Catholic temple (not a cathedral). It is still in construction, and to support the project, the tickets to enter are quite expensive, but that does not stop the millions of visitors. As a poor student, I tried to work the system by attending the evening mass (= save $). Unfortunately my plan did not goes as planned because mass is held in the underground crypt, but it turned out to be another lovely blessing. The mass was in Catalán, and afterword I made friends with the ancient priest who should me the roof of his study, which was designed by Gaudí (I just finished a contemporary Spanish art class, so this kind of stuff mattered to me), and he proceeded to give me some special brochures and tell me some fun facts about the building.

The next morning I headed to Montserrat, a famous monastery situated in the mountains 2 hours via train from Barcelona. (Tip: if you buy tickets for the trip, go to the kiosk on the floor below the main ticket counter in the metro station, it is somewhat hidden, but you get a better deal than at the “official” ticket counter). There are incredible hiking trails (really easy, but GORGEOUS views), and so I went with that objective. I then went off and passed through the “rosary” trail, which had scenes from Jesus’ life and crucifixion, and later traversed through the “less touristic trail” that left me with scratches down my legs, but a view of three valleys. I stopped to eat lunch at a lookout that left me breathless.

My lunch spot

That night, back in the hostel, I met a group of guys from the States who were studying in Spain as well. After showing my superior skill at billiards, they heard about my plans to go to tango dancing that evening. One of them asked to go with me, and so we went! He, I later discovered, could not dance tango if his life depended on it, but I could not help but enjoy the atmosphere. Everyone was over 60 years old in the establishment, and it was decorated to be like Cuba—loved every minute, especially because I could converse with the Spanish and my fellow inept partner could barely speak the languageJ Terrible, I know.

The following morning I hit Barcelona’s marvelous beach before my flight, which made it rather difficult to have any desire to get on any plane, but obligatory homework awaited.

Making a new friend and with our art

Arriving in Granada, every woman, female adolescent and baby was wearing the “traje de Gitano,” which is the traditional long tress with ruffles and polka dots. Día de la Cruz is a festival where people decorate little crosses with flowers, drink plenty and dance Sevillanas—it is a very family-oriented atmosphere and tons of fun! This is an element of Spain: a Catholic culture yet few practicing believers. Although the festival has religious connotations, it is completely cultural with basically every trace of religiosity only as an “origin” rather than the “focus.” I wish we, as Americans, had more festivals—I would imagine that they would turn into a drinking fest, but I like the idea of an entire city celebrating with a traditional dance and delicious food. 

Death, House Rat and Drunk Italians: Welcome to my Spanish Life 

The bane of my Spanish existence: a rat named Eevee (unfortunately, he is my host mom’s dog).

Rosa’s daughter’s father-in-law died, so she had to leave the little mongrel in our charge for just one day, that fateful day. Early the next morning, Katherine and I had to leave for another program excursion to Sevilla, and thus had to take the dog out before we left. (Remember: the Spanish do not return from partying on weekends until 8 am).

That Saturday morning, we hurriedly took the rat out (he has no manners what so ever, and has the rarest habits), when we ran into a group of drunk Italians, 2 guys in tuxedos and a girl in an evening gown—of course. One of Eevee’s terrible habits is to tremble his hind legs, and so the drunk girl asked us, “¿Qué le pasa?” (What is happening to him?) in her slurred speech. Having to explain that we have no idea what he is doing, that we had to take him out, they then further delayed our hurried morning by asking why we were in charge of him—did our family make us work? Didn’t we pay to stay with the family? Oh goodness! We then told them that we REALLY had to go, and then proceeded to walk around the entire block in order to avoid them. Eevee is ancient, and so I was thinking that we would give him a heart attack because we were having to run around the block because we were going to be late to catch the bus—I am such a terrible person. I would not mind him passing away, but I could not wish it upon Rosa to have her find him dead upon the couch while we were away. Nonetheless, Katherine and I now have the “italianos emborrachados y el ratón” inside joke that always bring forth a smile.

Sevilla is a gorgeous city with a river running right through it; it was something that I would picture to be typical Spain. During our free time, a group and I had tapas at a bar on the riverfront and wandered through the cobblestone streets. One of my traditions is to purchase a work of authentic art in every country that I visit, thus I bought a lovely watercolor of the Alcázar (famous tour part of the Cathedral).  

#2 Can Sometimes be #1?

Spaniards have a sort of campaign, propaganda if you will, to excuse an obscene social norm. Although Spanish cities are marvelous, gorgeous, picturesque, you have a 100% probability of encountering some sort of excrement in the streets, conveniently placed right where you are about to step. To prevent a riot from the foreigners, the belief goes that if you accidently have contact with this monstrosity, you will have great luck for the entire day (in effect, you should buy a lottery ticket).

One fateful day, I should not have even left the house. I am always extremely cautious to not step in dog poop, but I should have looked to the sky (or maybe not, because it would have then landed on my face). You guessed it, a bird pooped in my hair on the way to school—fantastic. Class, and then immediate shower—was not even worth the while. That evening, I went to tapas with some friends, and on my way home, another white droplet of luck hit my poor Tom’s (pair of shoes). I was at the point of screaming—why do not they have guns in Spain? I would have eliminated the entire bird population in one night.

If it had not been for the email that I received the next day, I would have continued planning a complete bird genocide—I was blessed with a piano scholarship to continue lessons for the upcoming semester even though I was unable to apply for it due to my semester abroad. The Spanish were right—well, to some point.  

50 Year Old Man Does the Splits

An image that will forever be etched in my mind is of a 50 year old man in extremely tight, red skinny jeans, a faux leather fringe jacket, 1970s embroidered shirt and red converse—could it be a better case for the fashion police? Our program paid for us to attend a pop/rock concert, which we turned out to be basically the only spectators in a very nice concert auditorium—maybe 10 other people?

The first act was of the pop genre, a band of 5 brothers, reminded me of Portlandy music—somewhat melancholy, indie influence, etc. The second band really got us going…two middle aged men who really should have stayed in their glory decade of the 1970s/1980s, along with some obliged younger friends so they could have a drummer and a bass guitarist (they did have some talent). A good portion of their songs were in English, but what astounded us (beyond their hideous fashion choices, which included a Canadian tuxedo), was their use of “mother f*********,” which was appalling, yet at the same time curious because I am almost sure that they had no idea of the gravity their words meant to an American audience.

We proceeded to humor their pitiful and lively performance by making a mosh pit (keep imagining an empty theater), he climbed on our seats, broke an armrest, did wannabe splits midair, flirted with us and even rolled on the ground while playing his electric guitar—he was REALLY cool. He thought that our laughter and howls came from our enjoyment, what he did not realize was that they actually were brought forth by his ridiculous performance by which I am forever scarred, and will forever bring a smile to my face. (My photos are on my phone, which I will upload soon because they are PRICELESS).  

Going Professionally Uneducated

Nothing says “I love you” than a package full of Thin Mints, a pink scarf, glittery earrings, Milanos and lipstick—thank you parents for your hugs in the form of sugar and sparkles!

           

Katherine and I making chocolate chips cookies

            I am one of those persons who just does not like to plan events when school is going on, but luckily, I was paired with an incredible roommate who loved to plan! Katherine conglomerated a group of us to go hiking in an area called Guejar Sierra—gorgeous pueblo in the Sierra Nevada Mountains about 40 minutes from Granada.  We hiked about 11 miles with a panoramic view of mountains sometimes covered in snow, but my favorite moment was when we encountered a herd of mountain goats, not quite sure why, but it made me laugh. Another cool moment was when we saw some trenches from the Civil War (1936), it was so high up and the land was so rough and rocky, I do not want to even try to imagine the fighting situation in that area. About 2 years ago, my parents and I watched There Be Dragons, which is about the Spanish Civil War—highly recommend it, and I will be watching that again once I return.

Guejar Sierra

               

       That night, we went to a free concert at a club called Plantabaja—a little dingy, but the music was incredible! First impression: a guy in a t-shirt with a washboard, another in cowboy boots, beard, plaid shirt either with spoons or a guitar, and another more hipster dude as the singer, all combined to perform a folk/pop country music in Spanish—and they were really good!

               

Halie, Ellen, Grace, Ruby, Katherine and I

        

The next morning was a Sunday, and how I love my tiny evangelical church! Katherine and I were going to perform “Come Thou Fount,” and being that we are marginal singers, we invited our almost-professional friend to cover our lack of melodious voices. We had plans to translate the hymn, but in Spanish it is COMPLETELY different, it talks about the blood of Christ with a concentration on baptism—quite odd to be frank. Turned out to be a really fun time, and the people LOVED it, yet despite our new stardom, I refuse to go professional.

             

Plantabaja band

     

    Katherine and I have the best of connections—our host mom is buddies with the director of Granada’s symphonic orchestra—pause, this is about the fifth time this has happened to me in this post…I am losing my spelling capabilities! I spelled “orchestra” as “orquestra” (Spanish), goodbye Spelling Bee awards, hello English grammar & spelling school again. Anyways, so he and his wife, Barto and Ronnie, came over for lunch. For dessert, Ronnie cut strawberries into rose-like shapes and make a chocolate dipping sauce <3 

Snow White & the Six Bulls 

Sophia, Kristin, Martha and I in the Sorolla Museum 
As part of my program, we took several excursions such as to Toledo, Madrid, Segovia, Sevilla, Córdoba, Ronda and Grazalema. To explain first when I say “program,” at the university I attended (Centro de Lenguas Modernas—part of the University of Granada) every person is a foreigner who is there through a program which organizes the schedules, events, etc. Centro de Legnuas Modernas is a section of the University of Granada, but is reserved exclusively for foreigners, which I was disappointed to discover because it limited our interaction with Spanish people.

Luke does not like selfies...

So Madrid, five days with my entire group (approximately 26 of us), beginning with El Prado Museum. We were very limited on time, but in the 3 hours that I had, I was extraordinarily impressed. It definitely enhanced my experience being in a contemporary art class, so I was able to soak in the significance of Goya, Velázquez and El Greco’s works. We next went to the Reina Sofia Museum, which is a more modern exhibition, but still stars Goya’s “Desastres de la guerra” and Picasso’s El Guernica. My terrible favorite (favorite work of the most horrible ones that I saw) was a white room, basically empty, with a  stick with one short, black strip, titled “Portrait of my Mother,” –poor woman did not raise her son right.

Michael and Maddie

I was able to meet up with two friends of my US university who were studying in Madrid, saw El Escorial and then that evening, I attended my first and last bullfight. Before criticizing my decision, you have to study the culture, history and process of raising and killing a bull. Although I am not in agreement with it, after seeing the “picada novillada” (type of bullfight with less experienced fighters), I was able to see how it is an art form. Each “torero,” or in this case “novillada,” kills two bulls. The process goes like this: first there is the great procession of all the fighters, and with the entrance of the bull (“toro”) the newbies practice their skills with the cape, hiding behind a wooden wall once the bull gets a bit crafty. Next, a man on a horse enters the ring (called a “plaza,” hence “plaza de toros”) with a lance-like tool and jabs it into the bull. The bull, obviously furious that he is in pain, attacks the horse, but it is protected and absurdly calm. The purpose of this step is to weaken the bull, protect the torero and slow down the heartbeat of the bull so that it does not suffer a heart attack from the stress of its first encounter with humans.

Plaza de Toros, Madrid

Already wounded, the newbies begin to stick hooked pegs in the bull to further weaken it before the actual fighter (torero/novillada) enters the ring. The torero practices his tricks with the cape, and then brings out a sword, which he jabs through the neck-area of the bull to kill it—that is the truly gruesome part. The bull dies within two minutes, after which they place a knife through its head to assure its death, then several mules haul off the corpse while men with rakes hide the blood. The entire process lasts about 20 minutes (each bull that is) because they have found that after 20 minutes the bull learns the tricks of the torero, and is then able to avoid them and hurt the human, so for human safety each section of the fight is signaled by the band.  Reflecting back, I am glad to have seen this aspect of Spanish culture, but have no desire to relive it.

Segovia & its aqueduct

During our travel to Madrid, we made a stop in Segovia, which is famous for its Roman aqueduct and Disneyesque castle. Queen Isabel lived there for a time, and it is said that Walt Disney designed Snow White’s castle after it—I would not be surprised because it is very fairytale-like. Katherine, Kristin, Luke and I had lunch in a precious restaurant with a great view of the castle from below (and yes parents, I ordered fish). 

Luke, Katherine, Kristin and I

John, Ruby, Martha and I in front of the
 Spanish Embassy in Brussels

Blushing Brussels

I am a free woman! My semester has ended, exams are concluded, yet I have not yet been freed of my mother’s charge to share my escapades—part 1 of many…

            

EU Parlament Building

          Rewinding back to March, three other students and I traveled to Brussels, Belgium in March right after midterms week, which for me signified that I had been living off of coffee and late-night/early-morning studying sessions for the past week and entered the plane semi-delirious. Being that we were a group of 2 economics and 2 poli-sci majors, we dubbed the trip “nerdherd,” with our goal of taking a selfie with Angela Merkel during the EU Summit that was to happen during that weekend. Also with significance to 2 members of the group, Beyoncé was to sing in Antwerp as well, so Ruby deemed the trip’s hashtag as “Antwerk” (sorry if you do not understand the cultural reference).

            

First waffle stop of 3...love Ruby's face

          The first night in our hostel was very “special.” Somehow our private 4 person room ended up with a French girl snoring on a bed, which meant that Martha and I would be spending a night in which our friendship would grow very close. After touring the EU and its interactive museum of the European Parliament, the “Parlamentarium,” we stuffed ourselves with waffles and chocolate near the peeing baby statute (it is quite pathetic actually, the boutique chocolate shops captured my attention better). My goal, in which I was successful, was to enter the shops appearing as if I was going to make a purchase and try the free chocolate samples—to be fair, I did buy a fair amount of truffles. After eating my third waffle, one of which was towering with whipped cream and strawberries, I have no desire to eat another for at least four more months.

              

"The Tourists"

            I encountered a brochure for an exposition of “The American Dream,” a set of wax statues by Duane Hansen, which were uncannily realistic. They represented every negative effect of this phenomenon placed in the 1908s (just think of the fashion implications…), all of which were true. My three favorites were: 1) an obese African-American woman named “Queenie,” who was a cleaning lady in a teal suit with a garbage can, 2) an obese white male on a John Deere tractor with a Coca-Cola can in his hand, and 3) a tourist couple in their 60s, yes, that means varicose veins, Birkenstock’s, Hawaiian shirts, and my favorite characteristic: fanny pack and visor. We all felt quite eerie because everything was so real that it should have been moving.

           

            Brussels was the country of surprises for our group, two of which are the most notable. Walking through the city (we had to have walked at least 11 miles each day, without exaggeration), we encountered a herd of bicycles, and being that we attend a university in a very ecological city, it was not a great surprise to us…until we heard music blaring at such a volume that it must have broken at least 3 city codes. We came to find out that a “famous” band called Pang, was filming a music video, and I would assume that we accidently made an appearance.

Martha, John, Ruby and I at the pa

The second surprise happened when we were in the tallest ball of the Atomium (symbol of Brussels, atom-like structure). I saw a crowd of at least 400/500 people packed together with an awesome DJ pumping the music, and I insisted we check it out. Turns out that there was a soccer victory, and to celebrate, everyone was drinking beer and dancing at 3 pm. While asking a guy to take a picture of us, he gives me a condition: picture for a kiss…so he left with a cheek red from my lipstick, and I left with two cheeks red from blushing.